


Second Life

by ry0kiku



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dubcon Kissing, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Night of Owls, Swearing, Talon!AU, Talon!Dick, Violence, subtle smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ry0kiku/pseuds/ry0kiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before this, he and Dick had absolutely nothing in common apart from Bruce Wayne and being ex-Robin. Before he found the older man under the rain, dagger in hand and yellow eyes blazing. Before Jason realized that they had hoped, despaired, died, and resurrected to a fucked up second life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Life

**Author's Note:**

> Batman and all its characters belong to DC comics. I own and gain nothing from this, except personal fulfillment and practice in English writing.

Jason had seen what Dick’s smile could do. Those joyful smiles could turn Bruce’s perpetual ice cold heart into melted marshmallow. Or prompt a sullen Tim into a beaming pain in the ass. Heck, it could even coax Damian—that insufferable hellspawn—into _hugging_ the original Robin, albeit reluctantly. To Jason, though, the smile served nothing more than a source of frustration and constant reminder of how he would never compare to the frustratingly perfect predecessor of his.

And yet, strange as it sounded, he could still vividly remember Dick’s smiles despite not seeing him for months. Almost an entire year had passed since the end of the chaos that was the night of the owls; the night when Nightwing disappeared. The family had looked everywhere—Red Hood only came along because Red Robin made him—but to no avail. Batman had even investigated the sewers and the labyrinths and the known lair of the Court of Owls, their primary suspect for Nightwing’s disappearance.

A couple of days into the search, their surrogate father filled them in about the ancient Court, child-trafficking system in guise of a fucking circus, and about the ‘Gray Son of Gotham’, handpicked by the Court since childhood to become one of their elite assassins. Red Robin had been beyond horrified and muttered something about urban legend of undead killing machines, while Robin had snorted and said, “Grayson doesn’t kill. He _cannot_ kill. That idiot’s too nice for his own good, he’d sooner die than let anyone make him take a life.” Despite the words, he did clench his tiny fists and bit his lips hard enough to draw blood.

Red Hood… he had laughed bitterly, feeling sick to his stomach. “ _There are fates worse than death, kiddo,_ ” he almost tempted to say, but really did not fancy a tiny but powerful punch to his face or a katana to his throat, so he turned and face the figure in cowl instead.

“What now, big guy?”

“We find him.” Batman growled, hands clenching. It was barely there, but Red Hood could detect barely suppressed anger, and… if he knew the Bat half as well as he actually was, he could’ve sworn he heard _fear_.

“Because by the time _he_ finds _us_ , it might be too late.”

.

.

They did find him first. Or to be precise, Jason found him. Gloomy Daddy Bats and the other two baby birds were still huddled in the Batcave, blissfully unaware that the bird they were tracking was well on his way to the manor, flying under the cover of heavy rain, waiting for his chance to strike. Good thing the family had a rogue birdie who watched the streets (and their backs) for them.

Still, regardless of who found who, turned out that it was still too late.

Jason hissed as he dabbed alcohol on numerous bleeding scratches adorning his right bicep. His open wounds stung, his right shoulder hurt like hell after being dislocated _and_ relocated, and his chest was bound to bloom into pretty shades of purple and blue after receiving that particularly nasty kick. And to twist the knife deeper into his pride, his opponent had not even a single scratch. Granted, it was due to some unfair, creepy conditioning, but it hurt his pride all the same.

Slipping his shirt back on, he made his way into the messy living room of his safe house. Grabbing a beer from the fridge and took one satisfying gulp, he headed towards a trapdoor just behind the dishwasher. Peering inside and squinting his eyes, he noticed that his guest was still present. And seemed to have awakened, too.

“Comfortable?” Jason asked in lieu of greeting, closing the trapdoor and eyeing the figure at the far end of the wall in the dimly lit small basement. The figure had his hands chained above his head in heavy manacles, and was sitting as comfortably as he could with his thighs tied to his calves; an attempt to eliminate chances of painful acrobatic kick to his chest again. Jason usually used this basement to interrogate criminals and he was quite confident of its durability, but he couldn’t help but take extra measures. He was dealing with the prized Talon of the Court of Owls, after all. And brainwashed into believing he was a killing machine or not, the Talon still had Nightwing’s strength and skills.

The figure across the room twitched a bit, eyeing the restraints holding his hands above his head, then snapping back at him, yellow eyes narrowed.

_Wrong color. It’s supposed to be blue. Sickeningly bright sky blue._

“You are a strange one.”

_Even the voice is all wrong. Dick will never sound this cold. Not even to naughty kids like me._

“Yeah? Do you even know who I am?”

“Red Hood. The strange vigilante bordering criminal who interferes too much.”

Good thing he left his domino mask on, despite having to detonate his helmet.

Jason laughed, even when his chest throbbed. But whether from his superficial injury or others, he couldn’t know. The outlaw put his half-empty beer can down and sauntered closer to his captive, stopping at an arms length and squatted to see him in the eye. Upon closer look—and without the creepy-as-hell owl mask—the vigilante noticed pasty pale skin instead of the usual light tan, and visible blue veins ran across the lower part of the assassin’s face like frozen river.

_For fuck’s sake, Dick. What did they do to you? Even a dip in Lazarus Pit couldn’t have created such a freaky zombie._

The corner of the zombie’s lips tugged upwards without warning, catching him off guard. His captive must have noticed it, because he leaned forward and whispered.

“What’s the matter? First time seeing a Talon?”

The Talon— _Dick_ —smiled.

It took a considerable amount of willpower for Jason not to lose his footing. Jason had always thought of Dick’s smile as positively freaky; impossibly bright it was almost sickening, and simply full of life. Yet, it was also positively unnerving to see the same face that used to radiate so much sunshine was now so cold and vicious and _murderous_.

He couldn’t help but think if it’s too late, before mentally slapping himself. Not yet, it was just a single smile. He put his cocky grin back on and replied.

“Actually, I’ve encountered and managed to incapacitate several of your kind barely a year ago during that stupid, failed invasion of yours. You weren’t part of them back then, but you’d remember. You were fighting on our side, after all.”

Yellow eyes gazed up at him, blinking. Jason thought he saw recognition flash before the assassin’s eyes and almost congratulate himself… until that creepy smile crept up again.

“Ah, yes. It was in Richard Grayson’s memories. You are important to him. A brother… a family.”

Jason suddenly found himself staring uncomfortably close into those yellow almost golden eyes. His hand had instinctively moved and seized the Talon’s collar, dragging him close.

“What have you done to him?” He hissed, vaguely aware that his voice trembled with… anger? Or was it fear? The Talon’s smile remained undisturbed.

“Jason Todd. Red Hood. It makes sense now why you keep me… this body, here. Richard loves you like a brother. Perhaps more—“

“What have you done to him?” Jason repeated, gritting his teeth with each syllable.

The Talon smiled, almost softly. “Nothing. If anything, I protected him. From the pain, the anger, the despair. And most of all, from the hope.”

Jason roared as his free hand flew and met with his prisoner’s face. He could feel the nose immediately broke, and the jaw definitely dislocated from the sheer force, twisting the smile into something that would probably make the Joker proud. The Talon merely blinked and regarded him silently, even as the nose and jaw fixed themselves.

“Where is he?” Jason grabbed the collar, this time with both hands, and pulled him closer. At this distance, he realized that the Talon’s skin was deathly cold.

The Talon tilted his head. If he weren’t so damn pissed off, Jason would have laughed at how innocent it looked.

“You are looking at him. This is his real body.”

Jason suddenly found himself laughing. An obnoxious, almost maniacal laugh. “I see. Dick is too goddamn stubborn they couldn’t indoctrinate him. So they did the next best thing, planting some sort of creepy personality to get him to kill.”

_And sent him to kill Bruce fucking Wayne right off the bat. Either this is plain stupidity or a cruel joke. Betting on the latter though._

“Which begs another question, though. What happened to the real him? I _know_ for sure you creep are not him, no matter what you say.”

The Talon returned his stare, unflinching. “I am him.”

“Why you—“

“Richard Grayson was resilient and, as you said, goddamn stubborn, but the Court of Owls wanted him all the same. And they were done waiting. It was not a good combination, not at all. Oh yes, the first six months was hell. And through all that, he had hoped.”

At the last word, Jason felt his throat constricted, his grip slackened even just a bit. His brain jumped to access the memory he locked under chains and keys deep inside him. The warehouse. The crowbar. The Joker’s laugh. The locked door. The bomb, seconds away from exploding. The fear. The despair. And the hope. And the pain when that hope was shattered beyond repair, that no one came for him, even in his last moments. And more _pain_ as he realized Bruce didn’t love him enough to _avenge_ him…

And to think that Dick, _smiling cuddly big-brother Dick_ , went through the exact same, if not more, pain…

“At some point, he hoped for something different. He hoped that the Court would just let him die.” The Talon continued nevertheless, yellow eyes locked onto him. “Of course they wouldn’t, he was far too talented to simply throw away. Once they made him a proper Talon, immortality and all, even that hope was lost. And I think, along with pieces of himself.”

Jason closed his eyes. He knew the feeling well, too well. He, too, had lost a piece of himself in the explosion, and later in the smoldering green pit. _Damaged_ , Ra’s said. _Replaced,_ the world reminded him.

“Then, I came to the surface. But whether I was created by Richard himself or by the Court, I never know. It was easier for us after this. Easier for him, I suppose.”

The chains rattled as Jason’s fist met the Talon’s cheek. He pounded on his captive so hard, uncaring when the basement wall behind them cracked and fell apart. 

“Give him back, you bastard!”

The Talon stared up to him, didn’t even wince as the fresh cuts and bruises on his face faded and disappeared.

“It is easier for him like this.”

Jason drew his gun and pointed it point blank at the Talon’s temple.

“Give. Him. Back.”

He pulled the trigger. The Talon’s head snapped at the impact, and he went still. Jason lowered his hand, panting. When he looked up, he saw the bullet was being pushed out of the temple and the Talon stirred, cranking his neck. The small lead fell to the floor with a _clang_. Damn creepy undead zombies.

“That was most unpleasant.”

“Then bring him back already before I do something even more unpleasant. Say… decapitate and throw your head into a frozen river. Try to regenerate _that_.” He pulled a dagger for a good measure. One of the Talon’s own daggers.

The assassin cocked his head, seemingly unfazed by the threat. He smirked. “I haven’t sensed his presence in weeks. He could have been gone. Put to rest, as he always hoped.”

Jason growled, reaching up and grabbed the Talon by the neck. “Don’t you dare to underestimate him. Dick _fucking_ Grayson doesn’t give up that easily. Never, when it comes to his family.”

He found himself staring deep into the predatory yellow eyes, hoping it would flash blue even for just a second.

“Dick, I know you’re in there. Come out now before I throttle the life out of you! Your body might be immortal but believe me, I know ways worse than death!”

He barely noticed he had gripped the throat with more than enough force to completely crush the windpipe if it were a normal human. The Talon stared at him the whole time, donning that creepy, _un-Dick_ smirk of his.

“You can’t do this to us!” Jason roared, banging the back of Talon’s head against the wall. “Do you have any idea how many months… _years_ Bruce will mourn? And we can barely handle him when he is normal! And not that I care, but the fucking replacement will find a goddamn reason to blame himself, again. Would you like to see that? And, fuck it, that demon kid. I don’t even know how to get started. If one of these days Gotham’s criminals turn up half-skinned, know that it’s your fault, and yours only! And I haven’t…”

The words died in his throat. Jason bit his lips, hands trembling against his better judgment. He compensated by clenching his fist and swung it forward. It landed inches from the Talon’s face, cracking the wall. Yellow eyes followed him as he withdrew his fist, bruised and bleeding.

“This is futile. He belongs to the Court now.”

“No, you are ours. You are Bruce’s first child and my—our older brother. Bruce respects you, that replacement practically idolize you, and hell, even that demon kid looks up to you!”

_Even I did. Years ago_. _Before the jealousy, the Joker, the pain, the despair, and the anger. I know how painful it was, how the wounds could never fully heal, and yet…_

_I thought if it’s you, who once tried to heal me, you could heal._

It was initially pure instinct when he lunged forward and crashed their lips. It was sudden, sloppy, and fierce, just like what he remembered. He heard and felt chains rattled and body squirmed, but he refused to let go. The kiss felt like Dick, tasted like Dick. In the middle of all this fucked up bullshit of him being replaced by this colder persona, Jason wasn’t going to give up that kind of familiarity anytime soon.

Jason pulled back, gasping for air, but wasted no time to dive for the neck. He went right under the jaw, while his fingers tracing the nape. The blue protruding veins was an eyesore and the skin was colder than he remembered, but the gasps and shivers were all too familiar. Jason allowed himself a small relief. His eye color, voice tone, or even personality may be different, but Dick Grayson’s sensitive spots remained unchanged.

He gripped the jet black hair, still slightly damp from the rain, angling his face before leaned in and continued the mouth-to-mouth rampage. His free hand expertly sneaked down and squeezed. The body under him jolted as if electrified, and he smirked against Dick’s slightly open lips.

Finally, a battle in which he could hope to win.

He kept Dick busy with kisses all over his jaw and neck, while his hands fumbled with the challenge that was the Talon armor (he had known the Nightwing costume like the back of his own hand). He managed to find the zipper and pulled it down, revealing the familiar well-muscled torso underneath the form-fitting armor. His chest gave a slight ache at the sight of ghostly pale skin and blue veins crisscrossing with old fading scars, but he leaned in anyway and took one of the nipples in his mouth.

He heard incoherent moans above him, coupled by rattle of chains as the body shuddered uncontrollably. He pulled away from the perked bud, tracing his tongue over the delicious collarbone, neck, jaw, and stopped on the lips, slightly swollen from the previous treatment. He cupped the face with both hands, staring deep into the slightly glazed yellow eyes.

“This will be as good as you remembered, Dick. I promise.”

By the time the Talon armor and his own clothes and mask were completely out of the way, they were a pile of entangled limbs, breathy moans, and noisy kisses. Jason noticed his partner no longer sweat as much nor as hot and bothered as he normally was after such… physical interaction (he just found a whole new incentive to find the Court of Owls and plant a bullet in each and every owl mask there was), but the reactions, verbal and physical, were comfortingly familiar. Jason noticed hands flexing and unflexing above the manacles, and the tied legs ground him from both sides, desperate for… for what?

“What do you want, Dickiebird?” He teased in a whisper.

The assassin lunged as far forward as his chains allowed and captured his lips. Lust-clouded yellow eyes met his own green ones as the answer was whispered back.

“ _You_.”

And gave himself he did. It was loud and messy and sweaty (mostly him), exactly the way they liked it. And Dick hadn’t begged even once for Jason to remove the restraints, though he did thrash about wild enough to rub his wrists raw if he were an ordinary human.

It was a minute ago though, now he was lying there with his eyes closed, content.

_Well, as content as someone can be while restrained hand and foot, naked, and covered in bodily fluids_. Jason mused, one arm draped over the body he just fucked, tracing comforting circles on the must-be-sore shoulder. _And while being half-embraced by his captor_.

Jason heard a hum of appreciation as his fingers hit a taut muscle and eased it. The head turned to his side as the lids fluttered open, revealing still-yellow eyes. The corner of the lips tugged upward to a smile, which made his moving hand skipped a beat.

“That was as good as I remembered, Little Wing.”

.

fin

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> And thus Jason found the best therapy ever. And a good excuse to keep Dick to himself before having to share him with the family.  
> And I took inspiration for Dick’s psychological state from Japanese manga Deadman Wonderland, where a character was being tortured and experimented on so horrendously she developed an alternate darker personality to avoid being driven completely insane. I’m no psychology student myself but I hope this makes sense. I’m also partly inspired by a short comic featuring Talon!Dick and Batman!Damian I read once upon a time in tumblr, though I can no longer find the link.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
